Defiant Princess: A Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance (Boys of Oak Park Prep Book 2)

by Callie Rose

  “Well, Maggie had a point.” Leah shrugged. “At least this time, they’re letting you dictate the terms. I mean, Finn’s been driving you around like your fucking personal chauffeur. And you know they’ve been going after the kids who are still giving you a hard time, right?”

  Adena and Preston had managed to amass a pretty significant following at Oak Park over the past several weeks, and the number one target of their vitriol was me.

  It was strange to see, and I couldn’t help but wonder if part of it was their preoccupation with me or my war against them earlier in the semester, but the Princes’ control over the school seemed to have been slipping.

  “They have?” I lifted my head to face her more fully.

  “Yeah. I saw Cole cornering some sophomore a couple days ago. I don’t know what the kid was planning to do, but I’m pretty sure all he actually did was wet his damn pants.”

  She seemed almost pleased at the notion, and my brows drew together as I asked, “So, you’re really not mad I’m talking to them again?”

  She laughed. “It’s fucking weird, I won’t deny that. But I wasn’t even mad the first time. More hurt, I guess, because it felt like you chose them over me.”

  “I didn’t mean to. And I won’t ever again.”

  “Anyway, they do seem different. And hell, if someone has to be in charge of the school, I guess there are worse options than those four. Plus—” She broke off, flipping her sunglasses back up as she studied me, her face oddly serious. “You seem different. Maybe it’s because you’re more skeptical, like you said. But you don’t seem like you’re just letting them walk all over you, which is good. You seem… stronger.”

  A flush of pride bloomed in my chest.

  She was right.

  I didn’t always feel like it—had moments of doubt and weakness. But no matter what had been thrown at me since I’d gotten back to Oak Park, I’d kept hold of my determination. And maybe that was the same thing as strength.

  “You know what?” She scrunched up her face. “I actually think the Princes all have crushes on you. As they should. You’re a hot fucking piece of ass.”

  I batted my eyelashes and stuck my tongue out at her, and she pretended to swoon as she rested back against the lounge chair. My stomach did a strange little flip-flop as we stared out at the ocean though. I hadn’t told Leah what’d happened between me and Elijah. Hadn’t told her that Finn had kissed me in the dance studio the day I broke his phone. I hadn’t told anyone.

  Because I didn’t know what it meant. What to do with the strange, intense connection I felt to all of them. Sometimes it felt like we were magnets that someone kept flipping over and over—repelling and attracting each other, colliding and retreating, but always in each other’s orbit, always connected by the energy that hovered between us.

  Would it always be that way?

  What were we supposed to do with that?

  Even if they earned my trust again, even if they proved themselves worthy of it, what then?

  I had kissed them all in the ocean that night. The night I had felt wild and free, the night I’d done whatever I wanted because it was my birthday and fuck the consequences. But I couldn’t live like that all the time, could I? I couldn’t have all of them.

  Somewhere along the line, in my head and in my heart, the Princes had become a package deal. They functioned best as a unit, and when I’d thought I was a part of that unit, it had felt… good. I had felt cared for and protected for the first time in my life.

  It doesn’t matter, Talia.

  You don’t have to worry about which one you’d choose, because you won’t get to choose any of them.

  The little voice in the back of my mind brought me back down to reality, and I glanced over at Leah, wondering if she’d noticed me come crashing back to earth. But she was stretched out on her chair with her face tilted up to catch the sun and a contented smile stretching her face. The freckles across the bridge of her nose already looked darker from just the few hours we’d been out here.

  The truth was, it didn’t matter whether the Princes had crushes on me or not. Whether they cared about me or not. The things I had written in the little notebook in my backpack would guarantee their hatred one day. Between the notes, the photographic documentation of hard proof, and the videos I’d managed to capture, I probably already had enough to bring all four of them down. Or at least to guarantee public humiliation, which in a town like this, meant more than it would’ve in Sand Valley.

  Jacqueline had lost her shit after the Princes showed their video of me because reputations were like currency here—and that video had rendered her currency useless.

  I couldn’t actually take the Princes’ wealth and privilege away. But if I damaged their reputations, it would have something like the same effect.

  So why am I still sitting on it?

  For a long time, I’d waited because I needed more. More dirt, more damaging information. But I had enough now.

  Why wasn’t I doing anything with it?

  The little black notebook, which had once felt like a shield or a weapon, my most valuable possession, was starting to feel like a lead weight in my backpack. A constant reminder of what I’d come here to do, of the path I’d set for myself.

  They deserve it, Talia, the voice whispered in the back of my head, and I closed my eyes, letting the salty air caress my face.

  So much had changed since I’d come back. My feelings about the Princes had shifted again, and I wasn’t sure of my footing in this strange new territory.

  But for all the things that had changed, the one thing that had remained constant was my determination.

  It’d gotten me this far.

  It was too late to change course now.

  On Saturday, I snuck into the gym and spent several hours in the studio. Because Finn didn’t know I was there, it was just me in the small room as I ran through my routine several times, making tweaks and adjustments, smoothing out rough bits, and changing the ending.

  He had asked me how I choreographed a dance piece, and I’d given him the best answer I could, but it was hard to put the process into words. It was a melding of intuition and technique, of art and science. And his observation had been uncannily accurate. A good dance piece was like a story—a conversation between the audience and the dancer.

  What I hadn’t realized until the day he said that was what story my piece told.

  It was about me and the Princes.

  About hate, hope, betrayal, and heartache.

  I hadn’t set out to tell the story, had simply built the choreography out of the raw materials of myself and my emotional state. My view of the world.

  But what I hadn’t recognized was that the Princes had influenced all those things. That the story living under my skin, waiting to be told through the graceful lines of my body, the shapes and rhythms I created on stage, was theirs.

  Mine.

  Ours.

  Maybe that was why I couldn’t get the damn ending right.

  When I’d first started to put the piece together, it had ended with fire and fury, with sharp, brutal motions and a sudden, violent stop.

  That didn’t feel right anymore. I could still do the movements, obviously, and they worked well with the piece. They were dramatic and attention grabbing. But the problem was, I wasn’t filling them the same way I’d used to. When I had first composed the piece, it’d been easy to find the fury in myself, to let it pour out of me through the choreography.

  But now, even though the movements hadn’t changed, the drive behind them had dwindled.

  The fury was ebbing.

  I tilted my head up toward the studio ceiling and let out a long breath. The audition was in a week and I really didn’t have time to fuck around with new choreography. But I wanted it to be perfect.

  Looking back down, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror, taking in the long, lean legs, slim waist, and brown hair tied up in a messy bun. The girl in the mirror stood tall
, strong but not unbreakable, fierce but not cruel.

  She wasn’t perfect, but she was… me.

  Keeping my gaze on that girl, I tried out a couple of experimental movements, not judging, just letting my body move through space however it wanted to.

  That’s better. Maybe something like—

  The door opened behind me, and I turned quickly, my pulse picking up. It was stupid, but I’d almost asked Finn to come with me today. Being alone in this room still made me a little nervous after Oliver, although I refused to let it stop me.

  But as I caught sight of the boy who’d stepped inside, my heart rate slowed again, pounding hard a few times like a racehorse skidding to a trot.

  It was Finn.

  He grinned at me, ducking his head. “Sorry. I’m not here, I’m not here.”

  Holding up a hand to block his face like a celebrity avoiding paparazzi, he slipped into the room and sank into his usual spot against the wall by the door.

  I stopped and put my hands on my hips, breathing hard. I’d been working for the past couple hours, and a light sheen of sweat covered my body, the tendrils of hair that had escaped my bun sticking to my skin. “No, you are here. What are you doing? How did you even know I was in here?”

  He arched a brow. “You’re pretty predictable, Legs. I went by your dorm and you weren’t there, so this was my next guess.”

  “Predictable.” I squinted at him. “I’m pretty sure you just called me boring.”

  “Not that! Never that.” His twin dimples appeared as he smiled again. “How’s it going? You feel like you’re ready?”

  I’d told him about my audition a week ago. It’d been somewhat accidental. He’d gotten me talking about what I hoped to do in my dance career, and before I knew it, I’d let slip that I was planning to audition for a spot in the Pacific Contemporary Ballet. I had sort of planned to not tell anyone, just to keep that extra pressure off myself, but the second I mentioned it, Finn’s eyes had widened with excitement.

  I waggled my head from side to side, rolling my shoulders. “Mostly ready. I’m thinking about changing the ending. I don’t know if it works anymore.”

  “Huh.” Finn nodded his head thoughtfully, although I knew he didn’t have any idea what I was talking about. He understood dance the way I understood football—he knew what it meant to me and could appreciate the skills it took, but the specifics escaped him. “Well, whatever you come up with, I’m sure it’ll be great.” Then his brow furrowed. “Hey, your audition is next week, right?”

  “Yeah. Thursday.” It was during the day, but I’d gotten permission to miss class so I could attend. I couldn’t afford any more unexcused absences.

  “You want a lift?”

  I blinked. “No, you don’t have to. It’s all the way down in L.A. You’d miss all your classes.”

  “I don’t mind.” He shrugged. “And I think we’ve already established I like driving you around.”

  “Yeah, but aren’t you having a hard time in American Lit? I don’t want you to get behind because of me.”

  “I’m not—” His face dropped, and he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “It’s fine.”

  “Finn.” I walked closer, passing the small pink stain on the floor from where Cole had beat up Oliver. It’d become a permanent fixture by now; I used it as a marker when I was working on steps. “If you ever want, I could help you—”

  “It’s okay, Legs.” His words came too fast, and the grin that followed was a little forced. “It’s not that big of a deal. And I can miss class if you need a lift. I was serious.”

  Frustration beat at my chest. I wished he’d let me help him.

  Then again, I wasn’t sure why I was trying to help him improve his grades when the fact that he didn’t technically have the GPA to earn a spot here was one of the main pieces of dirt I had on him. It painted a picture of a stereotypical dumb jock, too stupid to do anything but run around after an inflated ball, losing brain cells every time he was tackled on the field and given special allowances just because he won games for Oak Park.

  Finn was more than that. I knew it. But I also knew painting that picture of him would hurt him.

  “No.” I shook my head again. “I’ll find some other way to get there.”

  He didn’t look happy about my answer at first, but then his face lit up and he rubbed his hands together.

  “What?” I asked suspiciously.

  “You have money from your mom, right?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Perfect! Then if you won’t let me drive you, we’ll just have to get you your own car.”

  If I had thought Finn was joking or talking about some vague plan for the future, I was dead wrong. He hung out in the studio with me until I finished practicing—which didn’t take long, since I still couldn’t decide on an ending for my piece—then waited in the common room of Prentice Hall for me while I showered and changed.

  By the time I came back downstairs, one Prince had become four.

  I blinked at them all, my eyebrows shooting up. “You guys all want to come with me to get a new car?”

  Finn chuckled. “They’re not here because I made them. I just told them where we were going and they showed up.”

  I was a little surprised. Things had been slowly shifting between all of us, but I wasn’t sure if I’d call myself friendly with Cole and Mason. Finn and Elijah had been the two to more actively reach out—but then again, Cole and Mason tended to be more emotionally closed off in general, harder to read. Maybe coming car shopping was their way of reaching out.

  “Okay.” I shrugged, then raised a warning finger. “But if any of you make fun of my driving because I’m a girl…”

  “We won’t,” Elijah promised.

  “We’ll make fun of it for other reasons,” Finn added with a smirk.

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I already hate this.”

  Mason drove us to a dealership in Roseland, and the strangest feeling of familiarity settled over me as I sat in the front seat next to the brown-haired boy, with the other three squished into the back. Mason flipped his sunglasses down as he drove, but I could feel him watching me, and it made my skin tingle in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

  The familiarity of it all was terrifying too. It made me feel like I was walking a familiar path—one that had dead-ended in a pit of spikes last time.

  When those fears sprang up, I clung to the image of my little black book. I wouldn’t let them hurt me again. I was prepared this time.

  But a tiny part of my heart I could barely acknowledge existed was starting to believe that this path, though it looked similar to the one I’d been on before, was leading somewhere different.

  Somewhere better.

  I couldn’t afford anything as crazy expensive as the Bentley Jacqueline had bought me, and I didn’t want one anyway. But I had enough money for something nice and practical.

  Finn pleaded with me to test drive all the most outrageously ostentatious cars on the lot while Cole glowered at the salesman who showed us around like he might rip the guy’s head off if he dared to try upselling me.

  “Here, try this one,” Mason said, pointing to a small blue compact car.

  “See, that I like.” I grinned, walking over to it and running my hand over the hood. “It’s better than pink, anyway.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, that car never suited you.”

  “Yours suits you. Though I like the new paint job better.”

  When Mason had had his car fixed, he’d gotten it repainted too. Instead of the deep red, it was now a dark slate color that shone like burnished steel in the sun.

  The emerald of his eyes flickered, and my hand on the hood of the car paused as I realized what I’d said. I had just casually joked about the time I’d taken a heavy metal chain to his car like a baseball bat. The words had slipped out of my mouth without thought, but they only served as a reminder of the strange turns our relationship had taken-the thin ice w
e walked on all the time as we tried to navigate a way past all the bullshit.

  Mason’s expression was unreadable for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his face, flirtatious and dangerous and self-deprecating all at once. “Yeah. I like it better this way too.”

  The dealer actually let all five of us off the lot to test drive the small blue car, and I had to imagine it was only because he knew who the Princes’ parents were. I sat behind the wheel while Mason took the front passenger seat—of course—and the sight of the other three guys crammed into an even smaller space than usual in the back made me laugh out loud.

  I craned my neck to look over my shoulder before turning the key in the ignition. “You don’t all have to come with me, you know.”

  “Why? Are you nervous?” Finn joked, reaching around from his seat behind me to slide his fingertips down my bare arms.

  Goose bumps erupted along my skin at the touch, and a jolt of sensation made my lower belly clench as my pulse sped up.

  Fuck. I should never have let him sit behind me.

  “No,” I shot back. “It’s just that if you wanted to get Elijah to sit on your lap, there have to be easier ways to do it. You could just try asking. Who knows. Maybe he’s into that.”

  “For the record, I’m not,” Elijah threw in, and when my gaze shot to him, there was heat in his eyes as he looked back at me.

  My cheeks flushed as a barrage of memories assaulted me. I knew exactly what Elijah was into, and it wasn’t Finn.

  Mason’s gaze cut to me again, catching my blush.

  Did he and the other Princes know about what Elijah and I had done?

  There had been a time when I was certain they didn’t, because I’d been sure if they did, they would’ve used it against me, taunted me, or mocked me. But the look on Mason’s face made me wonder if I was right about that assumption.

  He didn’t look angry, or even jealous, exactly. He just looked like he could read every single thought flitting through my head, and none of them surprised him.